


Chevalier vs. Caveman

by FlitShadowflame



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Harry Has Issues, M/M, as usual, harry explores his sexuality, lengthy recovery h/c, mostly from dresden tho, poor decision making everywhere, rather graphic gay sex and a brief scene of not terribly graphic drunk straight sex, some not terribly graphic violence, that's probably a HP tag but it fits sooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22328371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: A girl gets Harry in trouble. Then Harry gets himself in trouble. Then Harry gets in trouble after a very handsome one night stand.Then Harry gets the guy he wasn't sure he wanted (a certain caveman named Johnny).
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone, Harry Dresden/OCs
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	1. Chevalier vs. Caveman

In hindsight, I really have no one to blame but myself.

I was not going on a date, per se, with John Marcone. It was a business meeting. Just because it was a fancy Italian restaurant with candles for mood lighting didn't make it romantic. Honestly, the candles were kind of necessary. Prolonged exposure to me was bad for electric fixtures.

I was running late, since my car had broken down (an extension of the same problem I have with lightbulbs, except made all the more terrifying because it means I'm behind the wheel of two tons of steel that could at any moment decide to give up on being a steerable, functional piece of machinery and instead pursue a new lifestyle as a wrecking ball hurtling through a crowded city at forty miles an hour or more). I have long legs, but I wasn't about to show up to meet the impeccably dressed Gentleman Johnny not only in threadbare clothes, but winded and puffing from running to be on time.

Better to be late and a little less disheveled.

Of course it was raining, because nothing was going right tonight. That was when I heard a noise in the alley next to me, a muffled scream.

Screaming, I would run for. What I saw through the slanting rain in the dim Chicago evening was a pair of men shoving a woman into a wall and tearing off her shirt.

Not okay. A quick Ventas servitas had them lying stunned a little further down the alley, and the girl shaking against the grimy brick. I could stay and fight these two goons. Or I could grab the girl, run like hell, and have her call the police. I chose option two, tugging her out of the alley and into a diner a little ways down the street. I wrapped my duster around her shoulders - she was already wet and terrified, there was no reason for her to be half-naked in front of a crowd of strangers.

"Oh God, thank you so much," she sobbed, clinging to me. I patted her on the shoulder. "I had no idea what they were going to do to me - if you hadn't shown up."

"It was my pleasure, ma'am," I said. "Would you like me to call the police?"

"No, no, I can do that." She wouldn't let go of my arm, not that I could really blame her. "Please, let me buy you some coffee or something."

"That's not necessary...I'm in a bit of a hurry, I was already late for something when I heard you," I mumbled, not wanting to sound ungracious, but at this rate, Marcone was not going to be very understanding.

At least, that was what I thought before Marcone walked into the diner, clearly looking for me. He came over and touched my shoulder.

"I heard what happened," he said in a low voice. "One of my men went looking for you when you were late, he found the alley just as you were liberating this young lady. The men have been taken care of." The words were barely loud enough for me to hear: his mouth was at the back of my neck.

The girl's eyes widened and she let go of me. "God, you're John Marcone."

"That's correct. What's your name, miss?"

"T-tessa."

I felt uncomfortable suddenly. The dinner was a little too public, too many people. The bells over the door had rung two or three times since Marcone walked in. I scanned the patrons suspiciously. I didn't like the idea of people associating me with Marcone, and if he meant "taken care of" the way I thought he did, I didn't really want to be around the girl and him at the same time, either.

Someone started walking towards us, hands in his pockets. Marcone was trying to get information out of Tessa. I was the one who saw the gun, which meant I was the one who leaped at him like an idiot. I didn't have time for a spell.

I forgot I wasn't wearing my duster.

We struggled and he shot me, but not before Marcone was very aware of what was going on. He took over the fighting when I realized how much my ribs hurt now. It was like being on a tag-team, only I didn't tag him in. The last thing I saw was Marcone punching the guy out, looking ferocious and violent and all the things he tried to disguise with expensive suits. Underneath the fancy businessman was still a deadly tiger who was possessive and territorial in the extreme, and when the businessman couldn't cut someone out with words or shady deals or even a private army, the tiger went straight for the jugular.

Then the world went dark.

I woke up on a soft bed. I was warm and dry and surprisingly didn't feel like I had more orifices than I was originally born with. I tried to sit up and changed my mind. There were definitely new holes.

"I guess the morphine's wearing off," Marcone said. He was sitting in a chair by the bed - I had just enough energy to turn my head to the voice, so I could see him now. "That was incredibly foolish, by the way." He shut the book in his hands with a snap. Had he been reading to pass the time, or reading aloud to me? Either meant he had been waiting for me to wake up.

"Who was that guy? What did he want?" I asked.

"He wanted nothing except money, and someone promised him a great deal of it if he shot us. The girl was a plant, as I half-expected when I met her. Her job was to get you out of your duster, which apparently you didn't even think twice about handing over."

I flushed. "She was naked, and it was raining, and how the hell was I supposed to know she was a plant?"

"Because your chivalric tendencies are well known, and have been manipulated before. I'm not saying you shouldn't save women in danger, Harry, just that you shouldn't hand over your protective items before you even know their names."

He had a point. "Don't call me Harry," I corrected automatically.

"Well, you've saved my life, again. Of course, I corrected Mr. Tolliver's mistaken belief that he was permitted to harm you very thoroughly, and prevented you from dying before an ambulance could take it upon itself to arrive. I really must do something about the emergency vehicle response time in this city."

I closed my eyes. "We're even, then. And you owe me dinner still."

"You were late. Dinner was ready, you were simply unavailable to consume it. I owe you nothing."

He was really in a snit. Marcone generally loved getting me alone, especially if it meant feeding me. I opened my eyes. "You looked like an animal, pounding on him like that," I said.

"There were children in that diner."

"There were two seventeen year olds, probably on a date. I didn't see anyone else under the age of 25." It had been a little late for dinner, nearly nine p.m. on a school night.

"He was causing trouble in my city." That just sounded like an excuse.

"You have people to take care of little things like that."

Marcone put the book down and moved closer, stroking my hair. "You almost died in my arms. I thought I was through with that when I left the service. You can take care of the magical threats to Chicago, but that means I take care of the mundane ones - including mundane threats to you. You're a vital part of this city, whether you work for me or not, whether you're aware of it or not. He tried to remove you. I made sure he won't think about trying that ever again." He was clearly emotional.

I hadn't consciously known he had been in the military, but it made sense. I leaned into the touch, figuring I could blame the morphine later.

"No one is allowed to take you away from me," he said softly.

"Possessive bastard," I muttered.

"You secretly love it."

I snorted derisively, though there was a grain of truth there. There were very, very few people who were so fiercely protective of me. Murphy and I had a relationship of ups and downs but most of the time she would go to bat for me. Eb didn't get involved in physical conflicts much if he could avoid it, but he'd done a lot to save me before. Thomas, in his own way.

I couldn't imagine any of them taking the same perverse glee Marcone did when destroying a threat to my life, though. He loved being able to protect me, and he wanted to do it personally, whenever possible. It was the kind of caveman mentality that appealed to me for its honesty of emotion.

"Stay until I fall asleep?" I asked, voice quiet because it would be easier to deny it if he rejected me.

"I'll even be here when you wake up," he promised.


	2. The Benefits of Having a Caveman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry recuperates, with a little help from a certain gentleman.

Recovering from bullet wounds takes a while for vanilla mortals, and usually a lot of IV fluids and often surgery. In the immediate treatment, I was no different: Marcone took me to a hospital, the bullet was surgically removed, and a few things were patched up. He explained I had a debilitating fear of hospitals and I needed to be released - to his care, and that of his private physician - before I woke up. He also probably paid a lot of people.

That was how I woke up in a...I hesitate to call it a guest room, in Marcone's mansion. The reason I hesitate is because it had been decorated in a way that reminded me of my apartment - soft, thick fabrics, with large wall-hangings, mostly from Asia. The color scheme worked a hell of a lot better than what I'd done with my place, but that was Marcone all over: even if he was catering to my tastes, as I suspected, he wasn't about to forfeit his own style completely.

Once I had woken up the first time, I started healing a lot faster. Wizards generally do. Marcone was reluctant to let me wander around his house unsupervised, I guess, since he or a bodyguard was always in the room. They didn't stop me from leaving, but I didn't push my luck with any locked doors. I hadn't seen my duster since the diner. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen any of my clothes. I woke up in a different set of pajamas every day, whether I remembered changing or not. They all fit perfectly.

I also never felt completely dirty or disgusting, which as good as told me that someone was giving me sponge baths in my sleep, before they changed my clothes. My taped surgical wound hadn't been able to handle anything else until today, nearly a week after I woke up. The doctor finally said I could shower as long as I kept the stitches covered.

I was about to thoroughly enjoy myself when I noticed Marcone leaning on the bathroom door.

"Oh, no. Doc said I can shower, and I'm showering," I said, determined.

"Of course. He also said I should ensure you don't fall and hurt yourself, so I'm joining you."

"I'm not going to fall," I grumbled, trying to push him aside. Mistake number one: getting close enough to touch. He wrapped his arms carefully around me, very aware of my injuries.

Mistake number two: trying to knock Marcone off-balance. All I did was over-strain myself, wincing when my stitches pulled a little.

"I think, under the circumstances, a physical argument is not the best persuasive device. A verbal one at least has the merit of not re-injuring you, but is similarly not going to help. I'm not letting you get in there, lock the door, and then have to pick the lock of a door in my own house when you fall and nearly drown."

I twisted in his arms for less than half a second before I realized all I was doing was hurting myself. I hated being injured and I hated being weak, and I really hated needing Marcone's help. "Fine," I growled.

He smiled.

"Don't get too cocky," I said, sulky.

"Never."

He helped me unbutton the pajama top when my uncooperative fingers kept fumbling them. I didn't _need_ his help with the pajama bottoms put he helped me out of them anyway, and I didn't bother making a fuss, just blushed and wished I could be home.

Marcone's clothes were off and folded within seconds. He had only one gun and a few knives on his person, which I guess was as relaxed as he got these days.

He helped me over the high rim of the tub and sat there to start the water.

I tried to pretend it was some kind of locker room, but I'd never really done organized sports and my lifestyle hadn't really lent itself to developing a tolerance for naked men.

Marcone was naked. He was washing/massaging my back, and he was naked, and I was naked, and I was not dealing with this very well. The only really good part of this was the water was so delightfully _warm_. I had only experienced this once or twice since moving in with Justin, in the early days after moving into my apartment. Justin thought cold showers built character - or, more likely, he didn't want to pay to have it repaired constantly. Same with Eb.

"You couldn't have gotten Gard to do this?" I muttered, hiding behind an understandable heterosexual desire for an attractive woman in a similar situation.

"I don't pay her enough," he said, amused. "The risk of injury for pissing you off in this manner is too high for what I can afford as hazard pay."

I squirmed. "I wouldn't hurt them. Much."

"It's one of the first rules of any kind of leadership, Harry - never ask a subordinate to do something you wouldn't do yourself. I employ a lot of men who have never had to think hard about their sexuality, so they can either be firmly certain they are uninterested in you like this, or they can panic about how it could be misconstrued, or realize perhaps they weren't as straight as they thought. In that situation, I do not trust all of them not to become...less than gentle with you, which is counterintuitive here, as you are recovering from sufficient injury already."

"...you're afraid some of your peons would have a gay panic at my scrawny ass?" I said skeptically.

He actually laughed. "I freely acknowledge you are not everyone's type, Mr. Dresden - too tall, too rude, and too rough around the edges. But not all gay men want a refined, petite twink. And you have not held the interest of so many women by being unattractive."

I could feel my skin heat up from embarrassment, meaning Marcone would see the blush on the back of my neck and ears. I wondered if _he_ was interested, and decided that was impossible. He was more secure in his sexuality than me or most of his men. That was fine. It didn't make him gay, I knew enough to know that.

We stuck to the arrangement, him washing my back and me mostly managing my front. Then I hissed, trying to reach my hair - lifting my arms pulled the skin around my ribs, including the stitched up part.

"Sit down so I can actually see what I'm doing," he said patiently. I moved to the end of the shower spray, reveling in the warm water a little more. He sat to my side, on the edge of the tub, and started lathering up my hair. Of everything, somehow this felt the most intimate, maybe because the only other memories I had of something like this were those faint recollections of my father, including bath-time which always meant magic tricks and bubbles and a rubber ducky appearing or disappearing. I closed my eyes (to keep shampoo out of them!) and must have smiled a little, I guess, missing my dad.

I could almost hear his voice, telling me what cities we'd be in soon, where he'd take me to see, between the shows.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Marcone asked, breaking the spell. My shoulders slumped.

I answered him anyway. "My father used to do this. 's a little awkward now." My father wasn't naked when he bathed me, for one.

"You were quite young when he died," Marcone said softly. "And your mother even earlier than that."

I nodded. "Didn't have any relatives. Got put in The System."

"Oh? No one gave you baths there?"

I laughed bitterly. "My first foster-mom tried to drown me when I asked her to help me. Does that count?"

Marcone paused. "I'm assuming you had at least one decent experience in foster care." There was an odd tone to those words, like he really, really wanted me to say I had.

I thought for a moment. "People mostly become carers for the money, Marcone. The first mom told me that. I was there to provide for her children's needs. I was a guest and I should do what I was told, stay quiet, stay out of trouble. I had a lot of chores, but she'd smile sometimes, if I did them all right, so that was pretty nice. The second house was a couple of druggies, but they'd hide their shit and pretend to be really together for the social worker. They weren't so bad, they just forgot to buy groceries a lot, but one of their other foster kids got in their stash and had a bad trip or something, because he tried to beat the shit out of me, so the social worker moved me again.

"The third house was this crazy cat lady. Most of the cats were pretty nice, but there was this queen that clawed me up, so she had to be put down and the foster mom got really, really pissed at me, and kind of went off the deep end." I paused. She'd made me wear a collar and a cat costume, and would punish me with a squirt gun. She started punishing me whenever I went near "people food," until I was hungry enough to start eating cat food. Fortunately the social worker came before I actually got that far.

"I got moved again. I was probably around eight. I was in and out of three group homes and 15 foster families before I turned 10, when I was finally adopted. Mostly I was moved as soon as the social worker noticed I was getting hurt or, y'know, maybe not fed regularly. But she was busy, she had a lot of kids to look out for. And I didn't whine as much as the other kids. I met on of her other cases, and after I met him, she told me he was a whiner, a little boy who cried wolf. He always wanted out of any house as soon as possible, so he'd make things up.

"She told me not to be like that. So I just didn't tell her anything. I wasn't sure what was bad enough to call her. I just knew I didn't want to make anyone mad. She was really happy for me, when I was adopted."

Marcone had silently been listening to the Confessions of a Foster-Child, I remembered belatedly. It was easy to talk to him, when I couldn't see him, could only hear a few gentle, leading questions in his soothing voice, as he took care of me.

I pulled away and glared at him. "If you use any of this shit against me-"

"Mr. Dresden. I have no intention to sabotage you with your past. My own is less abusive, but tragic in a different way, perhaps. My parents also died when I was young, but I was shipped off to any relative my current caregiver could track down, for as long as they could stand. I was too numb to behave as anything other than a grieving child for the first two, and perhaps tried too hard to be helpful for the next handful. When I realized nothing I did would really induce them to keep me, I stopped caring about their rules, opinions, or supposed blood ties. I stole from them, lied to them, attempted to get them in trouble with the police...it accelerated the shifts between caregivers, but I didn't care then. It kept me out of school more and I didn't have to learn their names if I knew I'd only be there a week or two."

I listened raptly.

"I joined the military and finally found someone, something, that wasn't going to give up on me that easily."

If we were going to trade, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. I'd always been curious about where the hell Marcone came from. "The entire time I was with Justin, I lived in constant fear that he would send me back to the system. Things got bad with him, sometimes, but I always felt like there was a reason. He taught me to use magic, but most wizards are older than they look and at least as conservative as their age. Laws about child abuse just meant he had to be more subtle. If I didn't learn fast enough, I was beaten, but more often than not I felt awful enough for letting him down."

Marcone went back to patiently washing my hair.

"At 16, he finally pushed too far. The magic had gotten increasingly dark and I was increasingly unwilling to do a lot of the things he assigned for homework, but - but he was like a second father to me. And until that breaking point, I hadn't cared enough. But what he did was...wrong. So I fought, I killed him, and I narrowly escaped execution for it."

Marcone was quiet, apparently deciding not to push. I tried to gain back that little bit of peace, the memories of my father. I still felt calm and relaxed, but I couldn't bring his face to mind.

"You need a haircut," Marcone said finally, running his fingers through my hair as he spoke.

"Haven't had time. Or money, or interest."

"You look like a homeless person. Less so now that you're clean, but..."

"Any more compliments, scumbag? I might die of blushing."

"It's a liability in a fight," he said bluntly.

"Wha - ?"

His hand was wrapped in my hair and tugging my head back at an angle extreme enough for me to meet his eyes.

"I said, 'It's a liability in a fight.' Female police officers either have short hair or they wear it bound close to their head. It's one of the reasons for the military haircut." Marcone had something a few millimeters of severity off from being a military buzzcut himself.

My eyes were starting to water. "Okay, you made your point," I said, trying not to flail stupidly or actually cry because a boy pulled my hair. He let go, rubbing conditioner into my scalp like nothing had happened. That felt really, really good in contrast to the pulling, which hadn't...hurt, exactly. It was just a pressure, and the desire to follow where my hair went because getting it yanked out didn't sound appealing at all. I could see why it was a liability, I really could.

What I didn't understand was why it had kind of turned me on.

I'm not forceful with women. I'm gentle and attentive and sometimes when they express an interest I'll get faster and rougher, but generally I tend to being sweet. I'd never dream of pulling a girl's hair in sex, but I did tend to like it when they scratched me up some. None of them ever tried pulling my hair. I feel like context is important, though - even if Susan had been the one doing it, I probably wouldn't appreciate her scratching my face or back just for the hell of it.

Was I crossing some wires here, mutually naked and intimate like this? It wasn't sex, but we were actually being pretty honest and soul-baring for once. For the second time, really, if you counted to soulgaze.

My mind was pointedly refusing to consider that I might actually be attracted to John Marcone. That was too many revelations for one day. I knew I didn't hate him as much as I claimed to, that I could appreciate some of the things he did for Chicago, but liking him? Much less wanting to sleep with him...? I wasn't ready for that yet, not while injured and effectively trapped in his care.

"You should stand up and rinse off," he said finally. I was cleaned and dried without further incident, and he helped me into clean pajamas.


	3. Self-Reflection and Other Ways to Flagellate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks too much.

I was still a little tender, but I could move around just fine. The doc said I could walk around like normal, take care of myself, as long as I stayed out of any fights for a little while and took it slow: no running, no intensive swimming, etc. It had taken two weeks to get him to actually say I could go home, even though the warnings were about the same.

That added up to me thinking Marcone made it worth his while to keep me here a little longer, but for once I didn't call Marcone on it. I just wanted to go home, be responsible for my own life again - and be wearing my own clothes, instead of the neatly pressed outfit Marcone had said were a replacement for the grubby jeans and tee I'd been shot in. Some replacement. At least I got my duster back in one piece.

Mouse and Mister were happy to see me, and even happier to be fed. Marcone had mentioned they were taken care of, but not who was doing the caring. I figured it was probably Murphy or Molly.

I went to check on my lab. "Boss," Bob said, startled. "You're back! Lookin' good, too."

I shoved my hands in the pockets of the new slacks, self-conscious. "Yeah. Just getting over a case of 'bullet wound,'" I said unenthusiastically.

"They kept you in a hospital two weeks for that?"

"No...I wasn't in a hospital."

"Where were you, then?"

I rubbed my eyes. I still couldn't quite believe it, to be honest. "Um. John Marcone's guest bedroom."

Bob made a choked coughing noise. I didn't know spirits could choke. It was probably just an affectation.

"You slept with Marcone?"

"I slept in his house, Bob," I snapped. "We weren't even in the same room!"

That had been a little too defensive, and we both knew it immediately. Shit.

"But you wanted to be~" Bob said, voice sing-song and taunting. I covered my face with my hands. I had walked right into this. "Want him wrapped around you, pinning you to the bed...want him fucking you so hard you can barely walk...to be where he is, he has to be a control freak. You want to see him lose it because of you?"

"Shut up!" I covered my ears, blushing. I did. I did want those things, especially the last one. It was almost impossible to catch Marcone without control and power wrapped around him like a cloak. I could all too easily imagine a scenario where he did, though. It involved me begging, him snarling, and a lot of hair-pulling and roughness.

Hell's bells. I went to take a cold shower, missing Marcone's working water heater already. At least the cold should drive the lusty thoughts from my mind, and hopefully get rid of my arousal. I prayed this was just a passing attraction, that in a couple days I'd be back to the dreams that had satisfied me for years, fantasies of busty, leggy women moaning and clawing and _growling and pinning me down and biting me hard, leaving marks on purpose, to scream to the world: property of possessive mafia boss._

This wasn't a good sign, I had to say.

I figured it was just being around Marcone so much that had my libido confused. So I stayed away from him as best I could, hoping desperately that I'd be left alone and maybe find a nice girl who could get me interested in her instead.

It took a few days and a decent amount of alcohol on my part, but I did find a bar with a woman who liked tall guys. That was actually the first things she said to me: "I like tall guys." As pickup lines went, I'd had worse but couldn't remember when. I bought her the obligatory drink and she tugged me into a back room.

She tried to suck me off, after clumsily wrapping a condom on me. I say tried because the alcohol was not helping me get it up. It was definitely the alcohol, not my distraction at the length of her hair, or the pitch of her voice or the way her eyes weren't money-green and half-glaring at me. I closed my own and let my brain fill in the things it wanted - she wasn't my type, that was all. Maybe more of a shoulder-length or pixie cut. Green eyes instead of brown. A darker shade of brunette. I started to take more of an interest, she slurped enthusiastically.

When I came, hand buried in her hair, it was Marcone's face I saw. That was when I knew whatever this was, it wasn't going away by avoidance. I kissed the girl and promised to/lied and said I would call. I got her another drink, made sure she got into a taxi, and felt like a real asshole. Normally I treat women better than this. I make sure they enjoy themselves.

I felt like I'd used her, even if it would probably have been worse for her if I had been completely unable to look physically attracted.

I went home angry with myself and, uselessly and illogically, with Marcone. If it hadn't been for him, I would have been fine tonight. Bob noticed my mood and decided against teasing me as I made potions for hours. This had to stop. I actually meditated for a little while, searching desperately for a spell that I could break - a spell cursing me into this attraction, you know? It couldn't be natural. I didn't like men like that.

Except I did. I looked at men just as much as women, noticing broad shoulders and toned muscles, handsome faces and big smiles, nice eyes. But there was some kind of mental block that kept me from sexualizing them, or had done. I let my thoughts wander away from Marcone and they took a very firm interest in imagining Michael slowly, tenderly undress Charity, watching her stroke him and watching them move together. Then it was me driving into Charity as Michael guided my thrusts with his, slow and sweet and - I felt like a pervert just thinking about them that way, thinking of getting between them. The Carpenter-dream dissipated and my mind brought me smugly back to Marcone.

I needed more proof. More data. And if this was really going to be my life from now on, a bewildered bisexual wizard, then I wanted to know what the hell I was doing.

A few books and a lot more alcohol later, I had a basic understanding of the mechanics of gay sex, and a lot of masturbation material, if I were the type to do such a thing. I wanted practical experience because - well, because it made sense, and apparently not exploring my sexuality before had led to this revelation completely blindsiding me, along with a few others that had been the books, chiefly about sado/masochism and Dom/sub. I had thought I'd just get embarrassed by the kinks in one of the books, and some of them had made me blush or cringe and turn the page. But others had gotten me too aroused not to take notice. I wasn't sure who I'd find who could talk me into trying even the things I had liked, because I was fairly sure I couldn't admit to them aloud, but...maybe someday.

In the meantime, I wanted to know for sure if I was interested in men, or just Marcone. I wasn't sure which was more terrifying, but I found a gay bar and went, wearing the nice things Marcone had bought me because I didn't feel like getting turned away at the door. I even showered again and combed my hair, though I left it down and loose at my shoulders. I hadn't quite gotten around to cutting it yet. It had nothing to do with my mixed emotions about Marcone pulling it and everything to do with pure laziness.

The bouncer let me in with a cursory check of my ID. The patrons of the bar were a lot more varied than in Mac's or the mortal bars I dropped in on every now and then. The age range was from definitely-under-21 up to at least 60s, and people were dressed in everything from artistically destroyed jeans and tight mesh shirts to full biking leathers to actual dresses - on men. I took it in, a bit wide-eyed at the surprising amount of subculture in the gay community. One of the biker types sat next to me and stroked my thigh.

"You looking for a little company, darlin'?" he asked with a lazy smile, leaning in to my ear so he could be heard over the noisy crowd. I swallowed.

"I'm still...figuring things out," I said awkwardly, not quite prepared to say I was a virgin but also terrified of getting in over my head. The biker was shorter than me, but broader and more muscular. He looked a little like a thug, but he was handsome, too, and he had a nice smile that made his hazel-green eyes sparkle. He was smiling now, pupils dilated.

"I'd be happy to show you the ropes," he purred, hand inching higher and his mouth suddenly much closer to my ear. I licked my lips. I was more interested in him than I had been in the girl who blew me the other day.

"No actual ropes, I hope," I joked, though there was a tinge of fear in the words.

"Not for a first-timer, darlin'," he agreed. I nodded slowly. "How far you wanna go?" he asked, the hand on my thigh rubbing circles into the muscle. It felt really good - warm and soothing. I sighed and relaxed.

"Not sure," I shrugged one shoulder. "Just...go easy?"

"Sure, sweetheart. We can stop anytime you want. But not here, okay? Not for this." He kissed my cheek, but I wanted more than that. I turned and kissed him fully, startled but not put off by thinner lips than I was used to. He was as responsive as any girl I'd ever had, though, and a lot more aggressive with the kiss, and with his hands. I didn't know when, but both broad, strong hands were on my ass now, feeling me up. I moaned a little. When he pulled back, his pupils were even bigger than before. He ran his fingers through my hair.

"Do that again and I promise we won't make it to a bed," he said raggedly.

I flushed. He tugged me off the bar stool, and his hand found my ass again as he led me out. I buried my face in his shoulder at one point to hide how red I was. The bouncer smirked - I'd only spent ten, maybe twenty minutes inside, and I come out with a guy all over me. Well, screw the bouncer. I planned to have fun and learn a few things about myself, and this guy - wait.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Jim," he laughed. "I guess we kinda skipped that part. What's yours?"

"Harry," I said, though I masked the truth of my Name. He squeezed my ass.

"Pleased to meet you," he rumbled. I could feel the words in his chest, which I was still nestled against. "Ever been on a motorcycle before?"

"Once or twice," I shrugged. Generally it was more dangerous for me than a car, since I was so close to the technology my magic loved to hate. The one he led me to was a '50s-era chopper. I relaxed a little more. It was old enough my magic might not totally wreck it.

"This is my baby," he said, patting the machine. He straddled the seat and motioned me behind him. I understood the draw of these things a lot better almost immediately, as I wrapped my arms around him and nuzzled his neck, smelling the leather and sighing a little. There was no way to confuse Jim with a woman, but that didn't make me a single bit less attracted, as the erection snug against his ass no doubt told him.

"No funny business on the road," he said firmly, handing me a helmet. "I want to have you in one piece when we get there."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm in town for a convention. It's a cheap hotel room, but it's a hell of a lot better than the men's toilet in a bar," he explained. I put the helmet on. I wasn't interested in bringing strangers to my apartment, so the cheap hotel room would have to do.

"Hold on tight," he said, before putting on his own helmet. He didn't speed too badly, and I tried to keep my hands to myself as much as possible, tempting though it was to rub against him and stroke his body, explore those hard muscles...


	4. OMC/Harry Segment - skip if you're here for the mafia boss porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry figures out what he's doing, more or less.

Half an hour later and we reached a hotel in Rosemont - not the best one, but not a truly bad one, either. He parked and stowed the helmets, sitting reverse on the bike to kiss me hard, hard enough to leave me dizzy. He had a hand on my inner thigh now, pinning me down so I wouldn't just jump in his lap. I moaned again and when he broke the kiss I saw him visibly control himself.

"Let's go," he said, voice thick with arousal. We walked briskly through the lobby, made out like teenagers in the elevator (even as I desperately clamped down on my magic) and I was so ready for it when he finally tossed me onto the bed and pinned me down I thought I might just come before either of us so much as took off a shirt. He ran a hand over my chest and said softly, "What should I do with you, now that I've caught you?"

"God, I don't even know what to call half of it," I giggled helplessly. "Can I blow you?" I rubbed a hand against his crotch and he growled.

"I wanted those lips around me before I even sat by you," he said, rubbing against my hand. I fumbled a little with his fly - I'd never tried to undress someone wearing leather pants before, I was surprised by how much the clung.

Jim shifted to sit on the edge of the bed and I knelt between his legs. The condom went on and he buried a hand in my hair.

I rarely bothered to tell vanilla mortal partners that being a wizard was like having an immune system on steroids: I could get sick, sure, but after a pretty violent version of whatever it was, I was almost always better within days. Injuries sucked while I had them, but once they healed, they healed completely unless I was hurt with magic.

"Easy on the teeth, and go slow. Slow and shallow is a lot sexier than deep but gagging," he said.

I'd never had a cock this close my face. I wrapped a hand around the base - it was a little wider than mine, though not as long. I licked the tip curiously, and Jim made a strangled noise.

It was _flavored_. It tasted like a reasonably close approximation of strawberries. I giggled, there was no other word for the noise I made. Maybe condoms weren't so bad after all. I sucked the tip into my mouth, just the first half-inch. Then the head slid in slowly, more like an inch. I swirled my tongue around him, just exploring. His hips twitched forway the tiniest of millimeters, and his grip on my hair tightened.

I moaned, and he froze, then pulled my hair again, more deliberately. I mewled - involuntarily, you understand.

"Kitten likes it rough?" he hummed, amused. I sucked down another inch and hummed right back, making him grunt. "If that was supposed to be a punishment, you are sending _very_ mixed signals, kitten." His hand carded through my hair twice and then he twisted a large portion of it into his fist.

I swallowed around the cock in my mouth and found it easier to move further down as I did so. Interesting. Another swallow, another inch, another swallow, another inch, and my lips met my hand. I looked up. Jim was staring at me, lips slightly parted. He tugged my hair, gently. I moved my hand and kept swallowing him down, until I had all six, six and a half inches and my nose was buried in his groin.

"I've never seen a virgin manage it that fast," he said, breathless. "You're _special_ , kitten." I purred at the praise (aware of the irony, thanks), and he moaned loudly, hips pushing up against me but with nowhere to really go. My scalp felt tighter as he pulled again, still not yanking hard enough to rip any hair out.

If only his eyes were green.

Still, I played around with the rhythms of it, stroking and sucking and humming. My hands, which had been gripping his thighs as I explored, got interested in helping out. One stroked similar circles on his leg as he had to mine, earlier. The other rubbed his balls. He came pretty soon after that, and I was glad of the condom again: drinking come didn't sound very appealing.

I pulled off, wincing at how sore my throat had gotten while I was too distracted to notice. He disposed of the condom while I sat on my heels and thought a little. He even zipped back up.

"How was your first time sucking cock, kitten?" he asked, petting my hair. I leaned into the touch and ended up resting my head on his thigh as he petted me.

I had to cough a little into the bedspread before I could really answer. "G-good."

"Would you like me simply to return the favor? Or show you something else?"

I bit my lip, unsure. Blowjobs were fairly safe. I'd gotten them from women before, including very recently. I wanted to test my boundaries, but I also didn't want to commit to something I wouldn't be able to follow through on. Despite how good-natured Jim had been about all this, I was having trouble taking him at his word about stopping, because I genuinely wasn't sure _I'd_ be able to stop, if someone sufficiently attractive was fucking me.

"Um. A little of both?" I said unsurely. He thought for a minute and then nodded.

"That's no problem," he said. "Let's get you out of all these nice clothes first, though."

The knees of my slacks were a little dirty - I dusted them off and stripped, kicking my shoes away first. I wasn't extremely body conscious in general (bath time with Gentleman Johnny aside) but I was kind of eager to get naked with Jim. He explored my body with his eyes, hands, and mouth, before pushing me onto the bed, on my back with a pillow under my hips.

He just covered me for a minute, still wearing his pants but not much else, kissing me and groping and then moving his mouth to my neck, where he bit and sucked and marked me. I twisted underneath him, rutting up against his belly and hoping he'd give my cock some attention soon. I ran my fingers through his (much shorter) hair, and he slipped lower, kissing his way down. There was a hint of stubble that rasped at my skin, a sensation so new and interesting I wasn't sure if it was pleasure or pain.

"Jim," I groaned. "Come on..." he rolled a condom on me - with his mouth. I whimpered, because it meant that he took me to the root immediately, and I wasn't really ready for that. I was so distracted by the feeling of his mouth on me, I almost didn't notice where his hands were. One had my hip in a bruising hold. His left toyed with my balls, the fingers curiously wet.

He sucked on me as one of those fingers rubbed my hole, and I nearly broke his grip as I pumped my hips up, surprised (and even more surprised by how hot it made me). He chuckled around my cock.

"Stars and stones," I gasped with feeling.

He just hummed merrily and kept going. I noticed the stretch and pull as he added new fingers, but he always worked me loose enough that I couldn't really bring myself to care. I started to beg, mostly just an endless stream of "please" and "more."

By that point, he must have had most of his hand inside me, up to the knuckles. I mewled piteously and he pulled his hand out entirely, making me sob. He even pulled off of my cock.

"Do you really want more, kitten?" he asked, stroking himself as he watched me. He'd been teasing and toying with me for at least ten minutes, and he was fully hard again.

"Yessss," I pouted. He laughed and kissed me, moving back up to cover me with his body again.

I wanted him in me, pinning him down with all his weight and biting my neck and pulling my hair and -

It was a pity he didn't have green eyes.

He had to pull away for another condom, which was probably for the best. It meant he hadn't seen my flash of disappointment. Jim was sexy and fun and so good at making me feel amazing. But it wasn't quite enough, though it was a hell of a lot closer than the girl from earlier had been.

I still wanted Marcone, even in bed with another man, even begging to be fucked by said man and truly feeling the need to be begging. I still wanted it to be Marcone. Fuck.

Jim was back in a moment and I kissed him lustily, putting all thoughts of Marcone out of my mind. He wasn't here, he wasn't doing this for me, and he probably wouldn't be as good at it as Jim was anyway.

Condom in place, Jim spread my legs wide and pressed in, slow and deep and so thick. I moaned, back arching, hips tilting, wanting more and not sure I could handle it. He gave it to me an inch at a time and gradually my hips sank back down on the pillow with a happy sigh. He hitched my legs up and I clamped them around his back on instinct.

One hand held my ass tightly as his hips made a little circle. My vision went white and I screeched, there's really no other word for it. Jim laughed, asshole.

"What the hell was that?" I asked raggedly. My cock was dripping wet under the condom; he rubbed it with an idle hand.

"That's your prostate, sweetheart," he smirked. His hips snapped out and in with all the force of a freight train and I made a slightly more dignified, manlier grunting noise instead of a high-pitched squeal as he hit that spot again.

Jim angled his thrusts perfectly to hit my prostate every time, and he moved so fast and so hard I ended up holding onto the headboard for dear life, lest he concuss me. He was jacking me off the whole time, too.

I was crying for release after three minutes, which was when his hold tightened. "Not yet, darlin'," he said softly, kissing my neck. He went punishingly slow now, with kisses and licks to my skin and idle rubs on my cock as he moved in and out.

"Please, please, please," I begged, twisting my fingers in his short hair, pulling him up for a proper kiss that he returned with gusto.

"You're a needy little kitten," he said, amused. "You want it hard and fast again?"

I moaned. "Please let me come, please..."

"I'm not going to touch your cock, and you're not going to touch yourself," he murmured, sucking on my ear briefly. "If you can come like that, then you can come."

"Wh-what? That's not fair," I pouted, though I wanted to try it.

"If you can't manage it before I finish, I'll help you out," he promised. I kissed him again.

"Okay..."

I needn't have worried. I didn't last much longer, coming hard when he slammed into my prostate again while biting my neck. There would be beard burn tomorrow, and a bit of a bruise. I liked the idea of having a mark. Apparently I liked it enough I didn't need to touch myself to come.

Jim managed almost ten more thrusts after I was finished, but he slowed down again, just feeling me, and he stayed away from my prostate. I don't think I could have handled that much stimulation anyway. It was nice to know I could still help. I pulled him deeper with my legs once or twice, making him groan as muscles moved in places I'd never really thought about having muscles before.

He didn't pull free after he came, just nuzzled my neck and covered me, an almost too-warm biker blanket.

Mentally I trotted out my (relatively short) list of female lovers, and compared this afterglow to those afterglows. This had hit buttons I never knew I had, in literal and figurative ways, and so many parts had been so very different. I still liked women. I still preferred dating women. I wasn't sure I preferred sex with women, but I didn't think I preferred it with men, either.

And I still wanted to sleep with Marcone. I didn't want to date him - that involved getting a lot more tangled in his morals, I was sure. It was just an itch, a fantasy, the crush on the bad boy that was not built on like or trust, only pure phsyical want. He was very attractive, I could admit that. I nuzzled Jim, too, humming. If I had a physical type, it was probably more muscular men, so Marcone was in line.

I just couldn't think about dating him, even though he'd take me to nice restaurants and probably cultural events. No, on the extremely unlikely chance that he had any kind of feeling for me other than insane possessiveness, he wouldn't expose the weakness. I'd be a dirty little secret. Another reason not to date him.

Why did I need reasons? I didn't want to date men. Take Jim...well, I didn't really know enough about Jim to make assumptions there. Maybe he liked reading comic books or something. We might have things in common.

Come to think of it, I didn't know much about Marcone, either. He was too careful with personal information.

I clenched around Jim (not really on purpose) and his chest rumbled in a satisfied, interested noise as he nosed my ear, then licked and sucked the thin tissue.

I gasped, rocking my hips and feeling my groin tighten again.

"You're going to be the death of me, kitten," he grumbled, but there was no heat to the words.

This time my legs were up on his shoulders and he lifted me off the pillow, going harder and deeper than before - I hadn't even thought that was possible.

It was a shame his eyes weren't green.

We actually slept for a little while, his shorter but stockier frame spooning up behind me, bare cock nestled between my legs. Hours later, it just meant a few seconds to put another condom on, to position me on my hands and knees so he could take me again. I couldn't see his face. It made it hotter, imagining Marcone doing this instead. I felt bad about it, but not bad enough to stop. Would Marcone slap my ass like that, grip my hair so I couldn't move too much into or out of the thrusts, the spanking?

Did I want him to? Hell's bells, I'd never wanted anything more.

I came again, harder this time than earlier, undoubtedly because of the reversioning with Marcone.

I collapsed on the bed after Jim finished, mewling a little.

"No more," I said. "Not sure I can walk."

He ran a hand over my back, gently cupping my ass. "I wish I lived closer so I could come by and do this every day."

I propped myself up on an elbow to look at him. "When do you leave?" I asked.

"...tomorrow." He winced. "Actually, today. As soon as I can check out. I have a funeral to get to in Indiana."

I squinted. "It's Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yes. As of..." he craned his neck to see over me. "Huh. Alarm clock died, I guess. We didn't get in until 10 or so, and we probably slept at least three hours in there. So it's gotta be getting close to five a.m."

I groaned and wrapped my arms around his chest, snuggling close. "I don't wanna go."

"I'm afraid you really have to, kitten. Unless you feel up to discussing your budding homosexuality to a bunch of drunk, grieving redneck homophobes in Martinsville."

I winced. "Point taken." I pulled away slowly and got out of bed, clinging to the headboard to support. "Mmmm. I should take a shower." I glanced over my shoulder. Jim was licking his lips. I grinned. "Someone should make sure I don't fall and hurt myself~" I said in a sotto voice.

I hadn't been joking about not being able to walk. But he washed me off tenderly and I soaped up his back with equal affection. I didn't quite have it in me to come again, but it was nice, the intimacy - and the warm water. I'd missed warm water.


	5. Cavemen Definitely Have Their Uses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've been waiting for (ok, it's a bit more than a moment).

Jim drove me back to the bar so I could get the Beetle, which he pressed me up against for ten minutes in a mind-blowing kiss. I tucked one of my cards in the back pocket of his jeans, to avoid the awkward goodbyes and discussions of whether we could or should call. If he was in town again, I hoped he'd ring me up. If not, well, I had memories and fantasies and a very good idea of what I wanted from Marcone, if I ever got the balls to ask.

I got home, showered, went to sleep. The sleep, unfortunately, didn't last long enough. I heard someone knocking loudly, startling me awake.

"Mr. Dresden!"

I knew that voice, and I was completely unprepared to deal with it.

"Mr. Dresden, I know you're in there."

Fuck. I groaned and rolled out of bed, tugging on sweatpants and not bothering with a shirt. Walking down the stairs hurt in a way that made me grin, but I didn't want to smile for Marcone. I opened the door and glared out sleepily. He was there, face set with some unidentifiable emotion. He looked me over and his nostrils flared. Something was different about him. It took me a minute to realize he was alone - no Hendricks, no bodyguard at all. He pushed through the door, shoving me in and closing it behind him.

"What the hell, Marcone?" I was awake now, and regretting the decision not to grab any weapons.

"You are without a doubt the densest man I have ever had the dubious pleasure to meet," he said coldly. I blinked. "You have no care for your personal safety, you distrust every offer of help, and you persist in believing that you have some sort of ordained right to fight every villainous scoundrel who interferes in my - our - city.

"You walk out of a bar with the first fuck you meet and think nothing of leaving your only means of transportation to go to wherever he decides to drive you, when you have no cellphone and the payphones in this city are increasingly unreliable. But your stupidity doesn't stop there, because you let him claw you up and then drop you off, in full view of Chicago while you can barely walk, even though you know you have enemies who would take advantage of that - to speak nothing of those who would use sex as a weapon against you, a means for a sympathetic link."

"I'm going to stop you right there because the last thing I need is a vanilla mortal lecturing me on magical theory," I snapped. "Not that it's any of your goddamned business, but we used spermicidal condoms, which means any samples would be contaminated. As to the rest: _again,_ not your damn business.

"I'm a big boy, Marcone, and you're not my Mom. You don't get to tell me who I can and can't fuck, or try to give me a curfew." I was stalking closer slowly, meaning to intimidate him with height and power and anger in a way I didn't usually try. I was fighting not for the sheer hell of it or because I didn't want him to care. I couldn't pin down what exactly I wanted from Marcone, just that this wasn't quite it.

He had to tilt his chin up to keep looking at me, but he stepped aggressively into my personal space, planting a hand on the mark Jim had left over most of my neck. It felt so warm under his hand. He dragged me down until we were nose-to-nose.

"Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you're mine," he said, voice low and threatening and giving me shivers of pleasure I didn't want to examine too closely.

He dug his fingers in and I gasped. That was when he kissed me, all teeth and tongue and violence. He had me on the ground in seconds, a knee between my thighs. I pushed him up gently, breaking the kiss but not his hold, one hand on my neck still, another on my hip.

"Hold it right there. I am in no condition to do anything like this," I said. He took a deep breath, still holding me, green eyes piercing right through me. "Marcone. Not today doesn't mean not ever."

"I spent years waiting," he said. "I already missed one opportunity. I don't want to delay this one."

"And I'm telling you, I'm not going to be good for anything if we do this now. I can barely walk as it is."

His eyes flashed. "Don't remind me. I need to erase the feeling of him from you," he said, with an intensity that was almost frightening. "He was trying to claim what's mine." He squeezed the mark on my neck.

I pushed again. "Marcone. I'm _not_ yours." I glared.

He kissed me again, harder this time, his leg rubbing against my crotch and just the feel of him driving me to distraction. I whimpered a little when he pulled away.

"I beg to differ," he purred into my ear. I squirmed, trying to get more friction on my crotch. Then I remembered I was trying to be angry at him, and I flipped us over, pinning his wrists to my rug. He watched me, not quite glaring, but close.

"Transitive property," I said breathlessly. "If I'm yours, you're mine. My fucking criminal scumbag." I nibbled his lip instead of kissing him normally. He groaned and bucked his hips, but I wasn't close enough for contact. "Fine, scumbag. I'll take care of you. But no bitching about how I do it."

He hesitated, but gave a single nod.

"Did you bring condoms?" I asked. Normals get all hung up on these things. I sat back and released his hands, he dug a couple out of his back pocket. I had his jeans open in a second and the condom open in less, rolling it on him carefully - I still wasn't really used to putting these on other people.

He was running his fingers through my hair. I purred a little, distracted, and then remembered I had a job to do.

Marcone was even thicker than Jim, to the point I wasn't sure I'd be able to choke it all down. So I geared up to it slowly, licking him with an open mouth, a few silly kisses here and there, and every few minutes taking in just the head and letting it slide back out, like I wasn't sure I wanted it.

He couldn't concentrate enough to stroke my hair, he just held it, grip tightening the longer I teased him. It only made me want to tease him more.

"Stop fucking around," he said, voice tense. I glanced up at him.

"I said no bitching."

He wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled just enough that I had to lean back.

"You have yet to actually take care of me, Harry," he said pointedly.

"Pushy scumbag."

"I'd like to come sometime in the next week," he drawled.

"Might be a little faster if you let go of me."

He smirked, and pressed his leg to my crotch. I grunted and tried to control my impulse to rub against anything that touched me.

"But you _like_ when I hold onto you like this, don't you, Harry?" He tugged a little harder, and I couldn't stop myself, I did move my hips to meet his leg, and there was a little noise that escaped. He looked smug. I could fix that.

I ignored the edge of pain as I pulled toward his cock without waiting for him to loosen his hold. His hand followed my head fast enough that I wasn't in any real hurt. I cupped his balls and pulled him into my mouth, lips stretching over him. Take a little in, suck and pull back. Take a little more, suck and pull back. He pulled mercilessly on my hair and I moaned.

So I'm a bit of a masochist. Big deal.

"You have no idea how _frustrating_ you are," he said, rolling his hips up some. I barely stopped myself from gagging. Jim had had a little more control than that, so I got overconfident. "I take care of you for two weeks solid and you try to disappear into your basement. You finally resurface just long enough to get a favor from a half-drunk girl, then vanish for another day until you're gallivanting off with a biker as though you had a previously unknown leather fetish to explore."

I gave him the finger. He tugged harder on my hair, and started just fucking my mouth roughly, not giving me the control anymore. I rutted against his leg, shamelessly turned on by the whole situation.

"And then I get you like this, the walking embodiment of the mouth saying no and the body saying _now_."

He could still use coherent sentences. Clearly I wasn't doing my job right. I sucked and hummed a little, careful not to tighten up too much, timing it against his thrusts. He gasped. "Jesus. Y-yeah, like that."

I stroked his balls again, fondling them and just waiting him out. I didn't have to wait too long, he came with a loud grunt, holding me as far down his cock as I could swallow until he finished. He let me go after, and I pulled off, coughing hard.

"You alright?" he asked, moving to hold my face and inspect me. I waved off his concern irritably, and he kissed me hard. Well. Not so hard, it just felt more intense because my mouth was so sensitive right now. I bet my lips were swollen, too. He kept kissing me as a hand snaked down into my sweats.

We'd rolled around some, so he was over me again, pinning my wrists with one hand when I got too grabby. He kissed me leisurely for a while before moving on to lave his tongue all over the tender spot Jim had left. It wasn't until I was coming that he actually bit down, and he sank his teeth in but good as I screamed in release.

He was licking gently by the time I could think again.

"Possessive much?" I asked, dazed.

"You fucking love it," he smirked, and I remembered we'd had this conversation before. I flushed. Last time he'd said "secretly."

It wasn't really true anymore, no matter how much I'd wanted to believe that I couldn't bear to date Marcone. It was dangerous, it was stupid, but I wanted to try.

"Fine, asshole. I love it. And you still fucking owe me dinner."


End file.
